ON AIR: Daniel, Bat for Lashes
It 'a lot' that I do not write anything and in truth I have no intention of reporting anything. My summer was great, nice, as far as I speak in this unusual way of my holiday: Instead, this year, I was fine. Maybe because I separated from him for just a couple of weeks ... Many might find it a little 'seedy what I say, the fact that my welfare is chained to the presence of others, but I'll tell you anyway: I do not give a damn's never, not even when I was bad and angry, let alone now.
I am writing, however, for other reasons. Why do I need to set some important points and, above all, my final disillusionment with journalism and his world during this summer, we saw and heard things beyond any wildest imagination. And yesterday Victor Felts has dealt the final blow to my naive faith nell'antipatia catastrophically as solid and constructive proof of a lucid journalism, cynical and moderately healthy. I am forced to admit that Indro Montanelli was almost the one and only, and behind him, the desert. Alas.
Again, I really wanted to express my extreme pride for the proclamation of the new Miss Italy: Calabria is a girl who - to learn - is hoping to represent the whole of Calabria and Italy. In this regard, I would like to escape from this his intent, given while he was obviously inspired by the sacred fire of neuronal emptiness.
This morning I read in the Corriere della Sera a fine article by Maria Laura Rodotà . I recommend it highly to anyone who finds what I wrote above slightly resentful: the problem is much broader.
I wanted, then, return the best film critic of the century: call it self-evident and surgical efficacy but disproportionate. But you have to frame the scene and specify the particular film in question: Zabriskie Point by Michelangelo Antonioni. We watched, He and I, half asleep, the historic sex scene in the land of the canyon. Apart from the concerns that pervaded the air, as we were silent, but the climax was reached when he, with a voice thick with sleep, gives the following - brilliant - the sequence of words: "Yeah, you know the sand ass ...". I would say that, in principle, equivalent to "The Battleship Potemkin is a crazy piece of shit." Because even Zabriskie Point is, fatevene a reason.
'll never be apart.
It 'a lot' that I do not write anything and in truth I have no intention of reporting anything. My summer was great, nice, as far as I speak in this unusual way of my holiday: Instead, this year, I was fine. Maybe because I separated from him for just a couple of weeks ... Many might find it a little 'seedy what I say, the fact that my welfare is chained to the presence of others, but I'll tell you anyway: I do not give a damn's never, not even when I was bad and angry, let alone now.
I am writing, however, for other reasons. Why do I need to set some important points and, above all, my final disillusionment with journalism and his world during this summer, we saw and heard things beyond any wildest imagination. And yesterday Victor Felts has dealt the final blow to my naive faith nell'antipatia catastrophically as solid and constructive proof of a lucid journalism, cynical and moderately healthy. I am forced to admit that Indro Montanelli was almost the one and only, and behind him, the desert. Alas.
Again, I really wanted to express my extreme pride for the proclamation of the new Miss Italy: Calabria is a girl who - to learn - is hoping to represent the whole of Calabria and Italy. In this regard, I would like to escape from this his intent, given while he was obviously inspired by the sacred fire of neuronal emptiness.
This morning I read in the Corriere della Sera a fine article by Maria Laura Rodotà . I recommend it highly to anyone who finds what I wrote above slightly resentful: the problem is much broader.
I wanted, then, return the best film critic of the century: call it self-evident and surgical efficacy but disproportionate. But you have to frame the scene and specify the particular film in question: Zabriskie Point by Michelangelo Antonioni. We watched, He and I, half asleep, the historic sex scene in the land of the canyon. Apart from the concerns that pervaded the air, as we were silent, but the climax was reached when he, with a voice thick with sleep, gives the following - brilliant - the sequence of words: "Yeah, you know the sand ass ...". I would say that, in principle, equivalent to "The Battleship Potemkin is a crazy piece of shit." Because even Zabriskie Point is, fatevene a reason.
'll never be apart.
